


it's about dancing in the rain

by lastyrainhill



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ballet, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Because of Reasons, But lots of angst and misunderstanding, Happy Ending, I suck at tagging, M/M, Real Men Wear Tights, Slow Build, Unresolved Sexual Tension, basically it's a ballet/struggling dance company au and i hope you'll like it, so much ust it's disguting i am so sorry, vanessa and alison are besties, yancy and raleigh don't talk to each other anymore but it's gonna be okay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-11
Updated: 2014-05-13
Packaged: 2018-01-24 09:18:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1599647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lastyrainhill/pseuds/lastyrainhill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Raleigh's life is a fucking mess. Once he was a dancer. Once he was a brother. Now he is nothing, and he has nothing. And he thinks he's good like this, he even thinks he deserves it.</p><p>But when Stacker Pentecost, famous Alpha Jaeger company director, shows up at his door and asks him politely what the fucking fuck he is doing with his life, Raleigh starts to reconsider. </p><p>And it's for the best, even if it doesn't look like it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this happened. I just love Pacific Rim and Raleigh/Chuck so much, I couldn't help it. 
> 
> Please comment and leave kudos if you liked it! I also take any constructive criticism. Also, English is not my first language.
> 
> This is going to be slow and filled with UST. I am sorry (not sorry).
> 
> And you can come say hello at http://oberyntveit.tumblr.com

It was 3am and Raleigh still did not sleep.

It happened a lot and he was used to it now. After Yancy left, he had a hard time adjusting, wandering in his own apartment looking for his brother playing video games or stealing some food from the fridge - goddamnit, Yance, this is my chocolate milk, don't you understand boundaries -only to find the ugly truth: Yancy had left for good, and now he was alone and miserable. He still tried to understand why. He still tried to understand how he failed Yancy, and how he failed to be a good brother. But the answer never came. His mind was blank. Everything was blank and numb. 

Raleigh turned his head and glanced at his alarm. 3:05. He had to wake up in 3 hours to get to work. Oddly enough, being a ballet dancer was a good preparation if you wanted to turn your life upside down and working in construction after that. Every muscle was solicited and lifting heavy material all fucking day long required strength everywhere. But the similarities stopped right there. Because nothing could ever compare to dance. Nothing. 

Even sex, Yancy joked in his head, far away. Well, maybe, but it did not stop the elder Becket to bang every single girl in their class. But it was a long time ago now. Raleigh was sure they had forgiven him. Or, if not, stopped to hate him when they heard the news.

It was like an earthquake. For days, the little world of ballet only talked about that. Yancy Becket, prodigy, rockstar, had broken his right leg. Broken, like, in pieces. Open fracture. Stayed in the hospital for weeks, missed the first third representations of his ballet. Shame, since he was given the main role. His brother took the role instead, but it was a disaster. Stage fright. Trauma. Couldn't do a single chassé.

Raleigh closed his eyes, hard. He remembered Yancy in this ugly hospital bed. He could see his heart ripped out on his broken face, and his look when he told him Perry, their choreographer, had chosen him to take the role. It's just replacement, Yance, the show must go on, he said over and over again, you know how it us, business, representations, we can't delay. But Yancy had looked away. It was at this very second Raleigh knew something else was broken, not only his leg, not only his heart, but something deeper, something even more precious to Yancy. Trust.

And after that, Raleigh just couldn't. He couldn't dance again, and just... Live again. Yancy healed for some long, painful weeks and when he came to their apartment, it was only to pack and leave a week later. Raleigh had a vague idea where he was, somewhere in California. He religiously send letters and postcards, but never got an answer. It was okay, though. It had to be.

Raleigh suddenly got up. His body never liked being motionless. He walked to the kitchen, opened the frige to get some orange juice. Wind and snow stormed outside, covering Anchorage with a white, greyish layer. Raleigh sighed. It was going to be a long day.

***

"Becket ! Someone's looking for you!" Roger shouted in his direction as Raleigh was walking across the construction site to help some of his co-workers with the hoist. He immediately looked up and saw his boss walking to him. Raleigh raised an eyebrow. That was unusual. Knowing Roger like he did, he would never have one of his men stop working during a day like this.

"Yeah?" he asked, and he could see Roger was kind of... nervous. Double unusual. Shit, what was that?

"A big guy in a dark coat. Waiting for you at the check-point. You better go, kid," Roger said.

Raleigh nodded and watched Roger walking away as if he had been pursued by mad dogs. A slight anxiety built up in his stomach. A big man in a dark coat? Stupidly, crazily, he hoped for a second it was Yancy. His brother he had not seen in five years, his brother he missed everyday, more than anything, more than being happy, more than dancing, more than-

It wasn't Yancy.

It was not a big guy in a dark coat either, because this rustic description did not fit the respect (and fear, a lot of fear) Stacker Pentecost, Alpha Jaeger company director, inspired to people. Stacker Pentecost had class. Stacker Pentecost was class, actually.

Raleigh's eyes widened, and immediately, anger replaced apprehension. He clenched his jaw and stopped at a distance where he couldn't shake hands with Stacker if the latter decided. Fuck this shit. Fuck all of this, Raleigh thought. What the fuck was he doing here? 

"Becket. It's good to see you," Pentecost said with his usual stern voice. Never too much words. Some said before Stacker was a choreographer and a company director, he was in the military and that's why he always looked that he was going on a war. Yeah. A war aganst mediocrity, laziness and fake art. Raleigh knew that. 

"What are you doing in Anchorage? I guess it's not for tourism," he finally replied. No hi, no hello, no how are you doing. They both knew better than that.

Stacker stared at him intensively, as if he was trying to read something inside him, something that even Raleigh wasn't aware of. Raleigh's body tensed under the intrusive scrutiny. A long time ago, when he was still a dancer, he wouldn't have mind. His body was his soul, there was no difference and he understood that in order to be a good performer, he had to let his walls fall. Trust, in himself and in others, was the key to be good, better than good, it was the key to be excellent, the key to touch the stars and beyond. But now it was gone. Fucking gone, and he wished Pentecost could understand, if not respect that. 

"I have an offer. A job offer," Pentecost said.

"I don't dance anymore. Don't waste your time," Raleigh said automatically. He suddenly felt numb. It was the exact same sensation when he got on stage after Yancy's accident. He couldn't move, not with all those people staring at him. He couldn't stand the stare. It made him sick, just like Stacker's look made him almost nauseous. He couldn't stand it, fuck. Or could he? He did not know. He just wanted to be left alone.

Stacker superbly ignored all of this and went on as if nothing happened. Fucker.

"I won't lie to you: Alpha Jaeger is struggling financially. Those dumb government officials are cutting subventions, because, as we both know, ballet and art are boring and not worth the citizen's money. However, as long as I am breathing, the Shatterdome will not be converted into another McDonald's and my dancers won't be unemployed. I am creating a new ballet, Becket, and I want you in it." His voice was strong and determined. Of course it was. 

A flash of electricity rushed along his spine, and Raleigh inhaled deeply. His eyes met Stacker's and he tried to stare as hard as he could. I can't fucking dance, he thought so desperately he feared he had said it aloud. But Stacker's words had awaken something in him, and all he could hear was "new ballet" and "Shatterdome". Fuck, who didn't dream to dance in this theater run by the best company director in New York City? Who didn't dream to dance for him, with the best dancers? Raleigh bit his lip and looked away. It was not his dreams anymore to do that. 

"I'm not the guy you're looking for, Pentecost," he finally shrugged without looking at him. 

He heard Stacker's sigh and a heavy weight fell in his stomach. It was a sigh of disappointment and - he did not like this at all - above all, impatience.  
"Look at me, Becket." 

Raleigh looked. He had no choice, when Stacker took this voice. The choreographer was staring at him severely. Oh great. Was it the time for the inspirational talk now? Great, just great. Thank you so much, life.

"Listen to me carefully. It's not about you. It's about a company. It's about principles and it's about passion. It's what makes you a man. You can hide and choose to freeze in Anchorage for the rest of your life; that's fine. But you won't be a man, you'll be a ghost and I don't think this is what you want. I don't think this is what you brother wanted for you either." 

Fuck. Raleigh clenched his jaw and tightened his fists. A light smile appeared on Stacker's lips.

"I already sent all the paper work to your apartment. Think about it, Becket."

That night, when Raleigh came back to his cold and empty apartment, he turned his old laptop on and booked a one-way flight to New York City.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Raleigh is fucking scared of everything, meets almost everybody and especially a young, sexy, stupid Aussie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! I hope you'll like it this new chapter. Thank you for all the love and support.
> 
> I hope you love my characterization of Alison. Her description has been inspired by this post: http://nerdyspock.tumblr.com/post/66483636368/from-the-pacific-inception-universe-howd-that   
> Check it out, this is amazing!
> 
> Some words on the ballet vocabulary used here:  
> \- Coryphée means lead dancer. They can have solos but they're not leading the ballet.  
> \- Corps de ballet (ballet body) are the dancers who are not soloists.  
> \- Premier danseur (first dancer)/prima ballerina: baddest bitches in town. They're playing the leading roles and are considered as the best dancers.
> 
> Next time we'll meet Hermann, Vanessa and Newt!  
> Please leave comments and kudos if you liked it! And if not, tell me why!

New York was not the place to go if you wanted to feel welcome or meaningful. It swallowed you, big and ruthless. People waked fast in the streets, bumped into each other and did not apologize. There was a sense of anonymity, of secrecy that ran along their steps. You could decide to disappear, take the first dark little alley you found and run without looking back and voilà! You were gone. Forever. Without a trace. Vanished into the labyrinth of the city, lost forever in the path you chose for yourself.

Raleigh had to say, he kind of liked it.

He had never stayed in New York for more than 2 or 3 months, for representations, workshops or classes. He and Yancy always rented a super tiny flat in East Village when they had to come over there. Their place was filled with empty pizza boxes, dirty dance clothes and dumb video games they played to relax before going on stage. Every other morning, a girl quietly made her out of Yancy’s room and met Raleigh and his grin in the minuscule kitchen. He generally offered coffee and a “yeah, he’ll call you back, sure”. Yancy never called back, of course, what a little fucker. Those were the good times. The old times.

In the paper work Stacker had sent him, there were several renting propositions – Jesus fucking Christ, either that man had some goddamn bargaining skills or he was just terrifying enough to make real estate agents shit their pants because honestly, a flat in Manhattan that cheap?! – but Raleigh had turned them down. He booked an hotel room. That was good, he thought. No attachments, no boundaries, nothing. He did not plan to stay long anyway. Sooner or later, Staker would realize the magisterial mistake he had made and would send him back to Anchorage. Which was all Raleigh hoped for.

He had arrived two days ago, just to get used to the city again, thinking about returning to Anchorage the second he had landed in NYC. He didn’t matter how March made Central Park blossoming early, or how he went to Times Square the first night to feel like a tourist again, just to loose himself in a crowd, just to feel invisible and comfortable and peaceful. That was the stupidest idea he had ever had, coming here, god fucking damnit. 

But still, he woke up, dressed, ate and went out, heading to the Shatterdome. Outside the streets of New York slowly awakened to the wet, cold air of March.

He had no choice.

He had to do it.

One last time.

***

He was standing in front of the Shatterdome, not knowing what to do with himself and ready to go back bury himself in Anchorage, since what felt like an eternity when he heard a familiar, long lost voice coming closer. And it was shouting his name in a less than charming manner.

“Fuck me! Is that Raleigh fucking Becket?!”   
“Language, love, please,” a feminine voice with a British accent added right after.

Raleigh turned his head and his eyes widened while he couldn’t help but smile. Tendo Choi was standing right there, gomina and bow-tie included, his shit-eating grin all over his face. A much better dressed woman accompanied him. She was from Asian descent, Raleigh could tell, but he did not want to presume wrongly and stayed with “beautiful, classy and how the fuck did Tendo manage to have her call him love?!”

“Yo, Tendo. Good to see you man,” he said. Five years was a long time, but some things just didn’t change. You just had to find the right people. Tendo Choi, stage manager, beer connoisseur and bow tie enthusiast, was definitely one of them. And the fact he still worked for Pentecost just said a lot about his abilities as being Mr-Fix-It-All.

“Only good? Aaaw c’mon Becket boy. You missed me more than that, m’sure,” Tendo teased with a smirk. “Anyway, m’glad you’re here. Means Pentecost owes me mo-“

The woman elbowed Tendo in the guts and smiled as if nothing happened.

“Tendo, dear,” she just said with an indulgent look and Tendo cleared his throat. 

Raleigh smiled. Well, he knew who was wearing the pants there.

“Alison, this is Raleigh. Raleigh, this is Alison, my wife. Her hobbies include being out of my league and reminding me constantly about it. She’s also a physician and a masseuse when she’s not busy being awesome,” Tendo said with the most in love eyes one could think of. Alison rolled her eyes and shook firmly hands with Raleigh. Damn. That woman had some good grip. You need it when you work with dancers, the most knotted, tensed people in the world.

“I’m charmed to meet you, Mister Becket. My husband told me multiple times how, one day, you managed to get a llama on stage. Brilliant indeed,” Alison said with a smile at the corner of her mouth. 

Raleigh chuckled nervously and glanced at Tendo. The latter raised his shoulders and offered him an apologetic smile, like “sorry man, I had to, this story is fucking golden”. Traitor. It happened when he was only twenty and almost got him fired from the company he danced for at the time. And it was definitely not the kind of story he wanted people to know before they ever met him.

“I can promise it won’t happen again, ma’am,” he said. 

Alison smiled softly and it was absolutely terrifying.

“I am sure Pentecost will be delighted to hear that. Speaking of what, we should hurry if we want to make it through the day,” she replied after she took a glance at her watch.

“Shall we go?” Tendo said with a grin.

Raleigh felt his heart race his chest.

***

 

He was in a theater again. He couldn’t believe it.

He was there, really there. Everything felt and smelled like home and it was overwhelming as well as – well, it was fucking frightening and awesome in the same time, two adjectives he thought could fit together when it came to really scary amusement parks. Well, his heart was doing roller coasters in his chest so maybe it counted? The Shatterdome was magnificent, all red and gold and classy, just those old movies’ theaters.

Alison headed to medical – yeah, the Shatterdome had their own medical, Jesus Christ – as soon as they entered the theater. She kissed Tendo on the cheek and nodded in direction of Raleigh with a little smile before she graciously disappeared by the stairs. Silence lasted less than a few seconds after that.

“Fuck, Raleigh. It’s been like… five years?” Tendo said, like he couldn’t believe it, and Raleigh felt a little guilty, yeah, a little, because he had been this guy who just got away and let his closest friends deal with it.

“Yeah. A long time,” he finally replied.

Tendo’s smile faded just a little, because he knew what Raleigh was thinking about and Raleigh knew he knew. 

“Congratulations, by the way. If I had known, I would have send flowers,” he said to break the flow of memories that ran between them. 

“We got married in Vegas, dude. No need for flowers, believe me,” Tendo laughed. 

Of course they got married in Vegas, Raleigh thought with a smile. The level of Mrs Choi’s badassery was too scarily intense for a vanilla June wedding.

“Anyway, I’m glad to see around, kiddo. Now you should go. You know how Stacker is. Room 202, second floor. You precious ballerinas meet every morning in here. We’ll catch up later,” Tendo added. 

Raleigh nodded – precious ballerinas, Jesus, he had missed this - and Tendo left by a side door. He would have like to take a moment to enjoy the hall, to feel the cracking silence of the wood, to imagine what it was like when people crowded the place, but fuck, he was almost late and he did to want to face Stacker Pentecost like that on a first day. He took the stairs, ignoring the memories it brought back in him - dancers

Suddenly he heard music. Somebody was practicing. Quietly, he looked for the room where the music came from and stopped at room 200. The door was ajar, just enough for him to see what was going on. That was pure, complete, unaltered voyeurism and he knew it. He didn’t care.

Raleigh felt his breath dwindle.

From what he could see, it was a young man, alone. He had ginger hair and broad shoulders. He was wearing only black boxer briefs and a grey tank top. Barefoot, he moved effortlessly on the wooden floor. Damn. In Ancient Greece, poems would have been written about this thigh gap.

He had the body of someone who trained everyday, eight hours a day, the body of someone who drank water and did push-ups and cardio and who had never broken a single bone in his life. It was the body of an athlete, but also the body of an artist who ran along with music and move, someone who lived rather than listened, who vibrated rather than danced.

His technique was… different, though, as if he was voluntarily being imprecise and inaccurate in his moves and still had perfect control of what he was doing of his arms, his legs, his hips. His hips, god. The way the bones rolled under the skin, the way he projected his body in the air, the way he followed the music, it was beautifully flawed and imperfect. Something tightened in Raleigh’s stomach.

He was… That was…

“Becket!”

Raleigh jumped back and turned his head so fast he felt dizzy. As he feared it, Pentecost was watching him and his eyes said enough to make him gulp. Yeah, definitely, that guy had been in the military. Raleigh’s body tensed up. He was feeling something familiar, something he had not felt for a long time. Something like fire and iron, far, far away, hidden in the depths of his body, of his mind. But he shut down the inner rebellion, and simply followed the lead of Stacker when he turned around and entered a practice room. 

He had not been in a practice room in five freaking years.

And there were people in there. They all looked up in the same time, stopping their practice or their chat, or whatever they were doing like normal people not mentally constipated. Too much people, too much staring, he thought and the nauseous feeling started to build up in his stomach. Don’t stare. Just. Ignore it. Don’t stare. 

“Everyone, good morning. This is Raleigh Becket. As you all know, since Duc Jessop left us for Kaiju Blue, we need a new demi-soloist and I think Becket would be a good match for us,”

Clear. Straight to the point. Typical Stacker Pentecost. Raleigh wanted to die and he forced himself to look up and meet the curious gazes of the dancers. It was nothing like a company Raleigh had seen before. They were all different from each other and that was… weird, in a good way. Ballet was supposed to be all about structure, same height, same size, same color, nothing had to be bigger or smaller, because that was supposed to be the beauty of it, you know? But Stacker Pentecost did not give a shit about rules, right. He did give a shit, nevertheless, about good dancers being good at their job.

“This is Aleksis Kaidavnosky. Russian formation, coryphée,” Stacker said, presenting a huge man with peroxide blonde hair and black beard. The fact was wearing a very tight bodysuit should have been ridiculous but at the sight of his muscles, Raleigh did not want to laugh at all. Aleksis greeted him with a nod. Good. He doesn’t want to kill me, that’s really, really good, Raleigh thought.

“And Sasha Kaidavnosky, his wife. Russian formation and coryphée as well,” stacker continued. Sasha looked like a polar fox, with her blonde, almost silver hair and her grey eyes. She had not the usual body for a ballet dancer but Raleigh was not in place to question Stacker’s choices. Russian formation, he thought. You do not fuck with Russian ballet dancers. Sasha smiled at him, her red lips revealing perfect white teeth.

“Hu Wei, Jin Wei and Cheung Wei, corps de ballet. The Wei brothers have followed classes at the New York City Ballet,” Identical triplets. There were three of them. How was it even possible? However, they all nodded with grinning smiles. They looked young and mischievous, and after the Russians, it was pretty refreshing.

“Daryl Sevilla, our prima ballerina, from the Royal Ballet of London” Stacker pointed out a red-haired woman, with tan skin and piercing blues eyes. Yep, definitely a prima ballerina. She intensively stared at him and Raleigh did his best not to run away. 

“And Miss Mako Mori, corps de ballet. Miss Mori has been educated in Paris and New York,” 

He met Miss Mori’s eyes and the soft look she gave him was what finally put him at ease. She was all bones and pale skin, wearing a pink outfit that matched her delicate complexion. Paris, Raleigh reminded. Maybe she spoke French? He had not speak French since his mother had died and- 

“Oi!”

With the refinement of an obese elephant, someone entered the room. Raleigh swore he heard a very loud and very collective sigh but it was 

“And this is Chuck Hansen, our premier danseur,” Pentecost said dryly.

Raleigh looked up and-  
Shit. That was him. The guy with the perfect hips. 

Chuck looked back at him. His face looked like his brain tried to process something very difficult about Raleigh’s presence in the room and finally, he managed to say something.

“…The hell?”

Not quite what Raleigh expected. He heard Stacker inhale deeply, and suddenly he wondered by which miracle the kid held the higher position among dancers when he was obviously a loud, late little shit. (Answer: the hips. The freaking hips, Raleigh.)

“Mr Becket is our new demi-soloist, Mr Hansen,”

It was like the kid had swallowed an entire lemon. Wow, thanks dude. 

“You’re kidding, right?” He had a thick Australian accent and his voice was high-pitched. Did the kid even reach puberty? That would explain a lot about his shitty behavior.

“I do not enjoy any activity that involves laughing, Mr Hansen,”

“I’m not dancing with this!” 

Stacker was going to say something but Raleigh was faster. Fucking ballerina drama.

“Hey, kid. This has a name. And it is Raleigh,”

Everybody looked at him in shock, and Raleigh realized it was the first word he had spoken since had entered the practice room. Somehow, the feeling had came back, low and rebellious in its body. Chuck looked at him as if he was mentally challenged, and there was nothing Raleigh wanted more than take this pretty face and smash it against a wall. 

“Whatever, has-been,” he replied and turned back to Stacker Pentecost. Christ, kid had balls, staring at Pentecost like this, all petulant and stuff.

“Shut up, Chuck,” someone growled in the back of the room.

The voice had a loud Australian accent. Raleigh saw Chuck’s body tense and his jaws clench, but all the tension seemed to evaporate from the room all of a sudden.

“Hercules, savior of the day! Please make your son behave or I will start looking for any pointy object and I’ll stab him repeatedly with it,” the redhead exclaimed. Daryl, her name was Daryl. She’s the prima ballerina, come on.

Said Hercules didn’t respond. For a second, Raleigh thought he was going to Chuck but no. The guy came right in front of him and gave him a hand. Raleigh took it and honestly it was the manliest thing he has ever done.

“Sorry, mate. I swear my son’s a good kid when he’s not busy being a pain in the ass to the entire world. Hercules Hansen, practice instructor,”

Raleigh was pleased to see that said kid had become as red as his skin allowed him to be. He grinned at Herc.

“It’s a pleasure, Sir,”

Stacker clapped his hands.

“Alright, everyone. Now let’s get back to business,”

Yes, Raleigh thought. Let’s do it.


End file.
